As You Wave Me Goodbye
by xxDodo
Summary: "Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye"...Dean had always wondered why his dad kept a journal... And he wants to figure out why it doesn't really work for him. Probably 'cause he has something much better to keep him fighting...


**Summary: "**Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye"..._Dean had always wondered why his dad kept a journal.. _And he wants to figure out why it doesn't really work for him. Probably 'cause he has something much better to keep him fighting...

**A/N:** I've hardly had much practice with this deep stuff. I've had this for awhile but never had enough ideas to finish it, but then ironic inspiration came in the form of season 7's episode 10...*sadness* Quite the eye-opener :( Poor Deano...(I've said that at least fifty times these past two seasons.)

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own, but am strongly considering writing a vehement letter to Kripke to inform him that his crew is breaking my Deanie, and he should probably do something about that -.-_

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><p><strong> As You Wave Me Goodbye<strong>

Dean always wondered why his dad kept a journal.

He'd been young then though, and instead of simply asking he'd taken it to flip through. Articles of deaths, pictures of monsters, and descriptions of any evil thing they could come across had jumped out at his wide eyes.

It was probably a miracle he'd seen enough by that age not to have pee-the-bed nightmares. But then miracle wasn't really the right word for that – ironic, maybe.

Now he tried it himself for a time. But not of supernatural things; they already had John's for that. Just of life, what they did, how a hunt went. Dean tried hard to convince himself not to use it like a diary. Dean Winchester does not keep _diaries. _After all his preaching about burying emotions and letting them out in spurts of violence and beer, there was no way he was emptying his heart into a book. It was just a record. Facts.

So what if there were a few descriptions of his time in hell in there?

Or of Sam's freaky vampire habits with demon blood when Dean'd been gone.

And a load of other crap that Dean hadn't even known where to _begin_ to list, stuff that made the tired man reread and wonder how in the world he was still walking.

It didn't mean anything.

And when a hunt went south, and Sam ended up in the hospital, Dean distracted himself with it. Freakin' hospitals, with their too many questions and do-good attitude that had gotten them investigated by CPS more than once in their childhood.

But they were over eighteen now, and the authorities had no damn right in hell to worry themselves about _anything _in the Winchester lives. More-so that no one deserved it; they couldn't afford to let anyone either.

Dean had nothing better to do. Fact turned to speculation, and frustration at mistakes along with fear for their consequences leaked through into the entry. He always had felt responsible for, well, everything that ever happened. He couldn't help but manage to find ways for things to be his fault in some way too...not that many other people helped – blame everything on the emotionally raped hunter, why don't they.

He didn't think he could stand this. Reliving every hunt, every what-if, every freakin' deed from an adrenaline rush – once was more than enough. A play-by-play just brought a whole hell of pain. But he'd done it anyway, for a good year, thinking somehow it would help. Good hunters kept a record, right? John, Samuel Colt, even that Lovecraft guy – though then again he hadn't been a hunter just a curious idiot...

All the same, Dean stuck with it. But with all their moving around, it should've occurred to him that Sam would eventually take notice of it. The kid would probably just be pissed that Dean was venting to a book rather than the psychiatrist side of his little brother.

Dean'd managed to hide it expertly for almost a year. But a random motel room, some jostled items in his duffel, and the question had come, albeit from a drugged and hazy-minded Sam.

It had been after Dean checked them into a motel, then come back to help Sammy from the car. The not-so-much-kid was struggling again after his brief stay at the hospital, but now it was from tiredness and the meds rather than pain. As Sam stumbled toward the door of their room, mumbling quietly to himself, Dean wondered if he should have been quite so enthusiastic with the morphine.

He wasn't really complaining, though, when his brother caught sight of the stupidly left in sight book and his mind wasn't quick enough to pester Dean about it endlessly.

Dean promptly shoved it off the bed, so it landed with only a fourth of it peeking out from under the wooden bed frame. Out of sight, out of mind. Bull...

Sam blinked, sitting on the bed while avoiding jostling his sling-ed arm and looking up at Dean blearily, absently bringing a hand to his previously concussed head.

"Wa'sat?"

"What's what?"

Sam eyed his brother with as much suspicion as could be managed through his pain-numbed state. "That book thing. 's new."

Without having to even think about lying to his brother – something he previously would've beaten himself up over to no end – Dean shrugged. "Probably some fairytale written in Latin. I would read it to you, but" - Dean managed a unconcerned grin in his brother's direction - "I might pronounce somethin' naughty."

Still, it was hardly ever this easy to fool the guy. Wasn't hard to figure out Dean's lame humor was a defense.

"...Dean?" Sam sounded uncertain, knowing there was something not quite right with his brother but unable to put his finger on it. All the same, he wanted to help. He'd always wanted to help.

Dean thought he should understand better now.

''Forget it," his brother assured him, easily masking any strain on his voice. "Go to sleep, Sammy."

Slight hesitation, Sammy-style, but the other man complied, too tired to argue and too out of it to even remember their conversation come morning.

Turning away again, Dean sighed.

As he glanced at the darkened book in some disgust, Dean knew a little bitterly then that his fire was extinguished – maybe had been some time ago, with all the crap that kept being dumped on him – and no stupid journal was going to be any sort of _therapeutic_.He had no strength left for this fight, he wondered if he had ever really what was needed. Deep down in his soul, Dean guessed it was mostly the people around him that gave him that strength. Sammy, Bobby, Ellen, Jo...even his dad, in all his dead-beat ways, had been a rock and idol for Dean growing up.

Not that John Winchester's journal-keeping, hardass ways were what Dean always found himself practicing. But distrusting? Pushing people away? He'd got that down flat.

It did with the fact that all the people he had ever been able to count on were practically gone was more than enough to get Dean a little out of whack. There was still Sam though. Always Sam, the pesky little brother that was Dean's responsibility, even in adulthood because the man had no idea what he was supposed to do without him. _Look after your brother_. His father's order that Dean still followed to the letter, even after death. It was one thing the man had done right.

A journal wasn't strength. Didn't lend _Dean_ any sort of comfort, as it had to John. It would always be there when he needed it, sure, but the ups and downs with his little brother were what really reassured him. It meant that Sammy would – _wanted _to – still stay. After their childhood, and through leaving out of regret, and even _dying_ – he came back. Maybe their father hadn't had that luxury of hope. Hadn't wanted to risk it. But Dean had it, had had it since he was four years old and became a big brother, all-included. And that meant more than Dean could ever tell himself.

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><p><strong>AN****: ***quiet contemplation* Hm. That wasn't too bad. Difficult reflection was made easier by the fact that the angst-pro **agent iz hyper** informed me that actually, I didn't _really_ need a plot. Just sad, sad Deanie. Which obviously hasn't been too hard lately... I don't like shortness, though, but really couldn't think of much else. *absently huggles Dean*

There, now I can say zat I, ze undead Dodo bird, shall never shy away from the challenge of _angst_. 'twas kind of weight-lifting though. Better than keeping all mah musings bottled up until a random spurt of ranting x)

(**Izzy** - *pokes* I did it :) And before I left too! I would've sent it to you first to beta, but wanted to post it before disappearing. Hehe. *is still proud*)

Donate to the Help Fix Deanie foundation! We accept reviews :)

-Dodo


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